Origin: 14 Days in Captivity
by IWriteNaked
Summary: "I can't believe how easy it is for Hodge not to be sorry when he took three lives in his hands and attempted to crush them." AU. A quick story about a kidnapping. Warning for dark themes and harsh language.
1. Prologue

How is it that for some people the day isn't something to fight through? There's joy not far from here, right? All my life all I ever wanted to do was just run away, and find some semblance of normalcy.

I can't believe how easy it is for Hodge not to be sorry when he took three lives in his hands and attempted to crush them. I stare at him through the glass, holding the phone to my ear. The cord is tangled beyond my ability to unknot it, but I try anyway, to keep my hands busy. His orange jumpsuit clashes with his skin tone, making him look old and sickly—or maybe he just _is _old and sickly. The man sitting before me looks a lot feebler than the man I've spent my life fearing, but he still smiles when our eyes meet.

"Clarissa," he says as his face lights up in recognition. "I never thought I would see you here."

I glare at him, reminding myself that I am no longer a victim. I was a child when everything happened, and now, at 23 years old, I hold all of the power—the freedom—and he has nothing but a gap-toothed grin and a cellmate. I will go home and sleep next to my husband, Jace, and Hodge will still be locked up. _I win_.

"Why did you do it, Hodge?" I ask, sounding much calmer than I feel. I was eight years old when Hodge decided that my mother, my brother, and I would be his new little ready-made family. We got into his truck at gunpoint. I remember feeling stuck in the darkness as we left my daddy laying on the ground with blood leaking from his head wound in the middle of the afternoon.

The feeling of helplessness comes back so vividly that I nearly crumble. He shrugs his shoulders and says: "It's all fun and games until someone gets arrested."

I am left with the same question I've been asking myself for the last 15 years:

Why?

_Why?_

**Why?**


	2. Day 1

**D****ay 1**

We stepped into the cabin for the first time with curious eyes. My mother held Jonathan and I close to her side while shooting sharp looks toward Hodge. I don't think I'd fully grasped the severity of the situation, but Jon still held my hand reassuringly. He was angry, Mom was soothing, and I was a dwelling place for confusion.

The three of us followed Hodge down a long hallway. He didn't stop until reaching the last door on the left. "The children will sleep in here," he said, throwing open the door. There were two twin sized beds on opposite sides of the room with a nightstand between them. "Go on," he encouraged, gesturing toward the room.

Jonathan stepped closer to our mother. "Where is Mom staying?"

Hodge grinned, and I thought he looked a lot like the clown on the cover of that Stephen King movie that my mother never let me watch. She said that eight years old was far too young to be watching horror movies, but Jon was only 10 and he'd watched all of the Leprechaun movies already.

"Your mother will be sleeping in my room with me," he answered shortly.

My jaw hit the floor. "Mommy only sleeps with Daddy," I said at the same time as Jon said: "Like hell she is!"

Hodge rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, and my mother told Jonathan to watch his language.

"I am your daddy, Clarissa," Hodge said as if it were a fact. Mom glared at him, and Jon scoffed.

"No…" I muttered. "You're not him."

"It's late, kids," Hodge said, ignoring my statement. "Why don't you get some sleep, and let Mommy settle in with Daddy?"

"You're not my father, dickweed," Jon spit venomously.

"Jon!" Mom exclaimed. "Watch your mouth."

My brother made a sound that was somewhere between a sigh and a growl. "Come on, Clary."

I followed him into the bedroom, placing my Pinky and the Brain backpack at the foot of the bed on the right side of the room. "I'm gonna get us out of here," Jon announced. "We're gonna go back to Dad, and he's gonna help us get Mom." I didn't respond, because he seemed to be talking to himself more than he was talking to me.


	3. Day 2

**Day 2**

I could hear my mother and Hodge arguing into the small hours of the morning. Their voices were muffled, but there was an audible crash, followed by the sound of my mother crying. Jonathan shot out of bed, rushing toward the door, only to find that it was locked from the outside.

"Fuck!" he said under his breath.

I sat up in my bed, trying to steady my trembling hands. "You shouldn't say bad words."

"My potty mouth is the last thing you should be worried about, Clary."

"Mom doesn't like it when you use toilet words," I reminded him.

He tried to open the door one more time before sitting at the edge of my bed. "Mom isn't here. Go back to sleep, Clary."

My eyes rolled toward the door, lids heavy with sleepiness, but my heart was racing. "But Mom is crying."

"She's a Morgenstern," he said confidently. "She's strong. Everything will be okay. Just go to sleep."

"But—" _I'm scared, _I added silently, but I didn't want Jon to think that I was a crybaby.

"It's okay to be scared, Clary. We're all scared."

I nodded, failing to hold back tears. "Will you stay by me until I am sleeping?"

He smiled and rested his head on the pale blue pillow beside me. "Always."

* * *

After my bath, I walked warily into the dining room, where I found Jonathan sitting at the table. There were two large dogs sitting at his feet. He looked up from his oatmeal to smile reassuringly at me. "The dogs are friendly," he told me.

I approached them with searchlight curiosity, while my heart turned wildly inside my chest. The biggest dog we ever owned was a Rottweiler named Shiba, and she never looked as scary as these two. Shiba would never hurt anyone. "They don't look friendly," I said finally.

"They are. Watch." Jon leaned down to pat the bigger one on the head. I'm not sure what kind of dog he was, but he was big, with black fur. "His name is Gunner."

"Gunner," I repeated. The dog turned to look at me when I said his name. He leaped to his feet and came at me, full stride. I jumped back, narrowly missing him when he jumped into the air.

"Down!" Hodge yelled from the living room.

The dog cowered and went back to laying at Jonathan's feet. Jon shrugged. "There's oatmeal for you," he said, pushing a steaming bowl toward me. I crinkled my nose. I hated oatmeal. "Just eat it," Jonathan demanded, already getting pre-annoyed before I even complained about it.

I sank down into the chair across the table from him and took a bite. The texture made me want to spit it back out, but I didn't want to make Jonathan mad at me.

* * *

After I choked down the oatmeal, Jonathan and I washed our dishes and put them back in the cupboard where Jonathan found them before. We hadn't seen Mom all day, but neither of us dared to ask Hodge where she was.

Hodge's feet hit the floor heavily as he entered the kitchen. "It's time to take your vitamins, children."

Jonathan stepped between Hodge and me, shooting him a sharp look. "Where is our mom?"

"She had a long night, Johnny. She's sleeping." _Uh oh. No one calls him Johnny._

"Listen here, you old fuck," Jonathan started. My jaw flopped open when he said the fuck word to a grownup. "My name is Jonathan, and I will make a necklace of your teeth and wear it proudly if you lay a hand on my mother or my sister."

Hodge stepped closer, towering over Jon with a sinister smirk. Jonathan stood tall and strong, glaring up at the middle-aged man, while I stepped back, like a cowardly little child. I moved around them both, to stand behind Hodge, knowing I should sneak off and get Mom.

The older man raised his hand, open palmed, and slapped Jonathan straight across the face. "Mind your manners, you disrespectful little shit!" he growled.

I stood still as a statue, my heart hammering. I saw him raise his hand again. I let out a shrill shriek and charged him, throwing all of my eight-year-old weight onto his back. I couldn't have weighed more than 55 pounds, but Hodge fell to his knees, crumpling in a heap.

That's how I learned about his back surgery, and the metal plate. There were a few slaps for me as well, for involving myself. But Jonathan was safe, and I felt good about that.


	4. Day 3

**Day 3**

"I miss Daddy," I whined as Jon and I sat on the front porch, staring out at what seemed like an endless wilderness. The thick forestry stretched on for miles. He balanced a bb gun in his lap, loading it so he could shoot at a tin can he'd set up in the woods not far from the house. Mom didn't want him to have the gun, but Hodge insisted that every little boy should have a bb gun.

He didn't take no for an answer. Jon and I entertained the idea of using it to shoot Hodge. We didn't know it wouldn't do much damage. To us, a gun was deadly, no matter what kind it was.

"Come here," Jon instructed as he moved to stand. I followed him down the wooden steps into the edge of where the abundant brush began. He handed the gun to me. "Aim at the can and pull the trigger."

I tried but didn't come anywhere near hitting it. "I suck," I pouted.

He smiled, shaking his head softly. "You just need to practice more. Try again."

So I did. Over and over, until finally, I heard the little bullet ding against the dented, silver tin can. "I got it!" I exclaimed.

My brother cheered and jumped up and down victoriously. "You got it!" he shouted excitedly, and knowing he was proud of me may have been the best moment of my young life.

Amidst our, admittedly loud, celebration, the front door swung open hard, clashing against the outside wall with a bang. "Hey!" Hodge chastized. His shirt was unbuttoned all the way down and his belt was undone. I didn't know what that meant, but Jon didn't look happy about it. "Kepp it down! Your mother was worried!"

We ducked our heads, muttering an apology.

* * *

That night I laid in bed, wide awake. Jon didn't even pretend to try to sleep. He kept the light on, a comic book held up in front of his face. "Jon?" I whispered, keeping my voice low so the adults wouldn't hear us talking. We'd be in trouble, surely, if they caught us staying up this late.

"What?" he grumbled, his eyes still fixed on the colorful illustrations and the little talking bubbles that paired with each one.

I sat up and moved from my bed to sit at the end of his. "Why would Hodge come outside without his clothes on all the way?" I asked him. He knew everything. He was older, and always had the answers to things I didn't understand.

Jon signed, pushing back his light hair as he set the thin, flimsy comic boot down on the nightstand, still opened to the page he'd been reading before I interrupted him. "He and Mom were probably having sex."

My mouth flopped open in surprise, and my stomach felt sick. "Mommy's only supposed to do that with Daddy though," I objected, a disgusted expression stuck on my face.

Jon sat silently for a long measure of time. He didn't look at me. His dark eyes found a spot on the wall and didn't move from it again. So much time passed that I began to drift off, only to be brought back to the situation when he finally opened his mouth to tell me: "I don't think he gives her a choice."

Even I knew that was not okay to do to someone. I'd learned it in my school before we were taken there.


End file.
